


Sick Day

by cruciel



Category: Yami No Matsuei
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-18
Updated: 2004-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruciel/pseuds/cruciel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he was sick, Tatsumi was less polite, didn't smile that infuriating superior smile, and emitted strange growling sounds when anything and anyone came within two metre radius of his person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Day

When Tsuzuki caught the stray line of office conversation going in the way of-

_“…Tatsumi, that poor bastard…does anyone in the JuohCho even remember him not in his office? It must be a killer…get it? Killer?”_

\- he drifted away quietly amid the sniggering guffaws, had his tea, and then abruptly left the office, shoving his arm into his coat.

Which was why Hisoka found himself adrift with a half-finished report, a mountain of overdue paperwork and a plate of half-eaten apple pie with the fork still quivering in the congealed sugary goo.

The apple pie worried him the most. For that hippopotamus with a freakish metabolism to abandon his daily homage to his Sweet Divinities, something must have happened. Tracing the abandoned utensil with a finger, he frowned at the residue of mixed emotions he soaked up. There was worry. The Fear alarmed him, Trepidation made him swallow. And…uncertainty? Determination?

_Hope?_

Dear God, Was he going to go into a fool’s errand, like finding Muraki on his own and somehow pacify the madman? Bring him to heel?  Hisoka’s heart raced as he ran to the lab. If one knew Tsuzuki – and damnit he _knew_ that idiot- they wouldn’t laugh the idea off. One who would understand his Empathic Formula.

He threw open the door, sending the napping owl flapping to the window in alarm.

“Watari-san!" he gasped. "I think Tsuzuki is in trouble!”

*~*~*~*

  
When he was sick, Tatsumi was less polite, didn’t smile that infuriating superior smile, and emitted strange growling sounds when anything and anyone came within two metre radius of his person.

Being as he was, Tsuzuki was violating that safety radius. Repeatedly. Until Tatsumi was beyond the point of threatening the lethal Puppy Eyes with his equally lethal shadows, keenly sharpened words, and even physical violence in the manner of “wringing your neck with my bare hands if you burn another pot again.”

Now he glared helplessly as the resident klutz bumbled about, who was wondering out loud if Suzaku-nee could help cook dinner, since there was no stove anymore.

Tatsumi lay back on the bed and slapped the ice pack back on his head, and coughed.

*~*~*~*

  
Hisoka stared. “Tatsumi-san is sick?”

Watari nodded.

“But…Tatsumi-san is _ never_ sick.”

“Worst cold in the history of the Meifu, so I hear.” Watari yawned, swatting 003 away from his hair. “The Count had it before, back when he was young. I don’t want to think about how long ago that was. Back when our scaly ancestors with lots of sharp teeth were still deciding whether to be omnivores or carnivores.”

“If you want to say dinosaurs, say so,” Hisoka said shortly, rather embarrassed by his panicked entrance a few minutes earlier. An embarrassed Hisoka was a defensive Hisoka. Watari smiled indulgently. Bon still had a long way to go.

“Still, being sick doesn’t mean Tatsumi should be ungrateful,” Watari said with frank criticism, lounging back from the computer with coffee. “The Chief even offered to sing songs of consolation after forcing Tatsumi to bed rest.”

“The Chief,” Hisoka pointed out, “is currently hiding in his office with a brain haemorrhage.” He winced, palming his forehead. “The pain must be terrible. I can hear him from here.”

“What happened?”

“I can’t tell clearly. The pain is getting in the way. Something to do with the office stapler and a sharp aim?”

Watari clicked his tongue absently. “He said he ran into the door.”

After a pause, they sighed in unison.

“Poor Tatsumi.”

*~*~*~*~*

  
Tsuzuki was loving every minute of it, terrorising the poor man with his particular version of ‘nursing’. When the kitchen resembled something of its former glory of spotlessness, he sighed proudly and turned to Tatsumi. “There. All done.”

Tatsumi didn’t have the energy to even nod. He was hungry, and he felt as if he had been turned inside out and put together backwards. At least his fever had been broken, but he strongly suspected it was due to the exuberant _bathing_ he received from Byakko. It was slightly disturbing to remember the sly glint in the damned cat’s eyes. What in the name of all the candles did _that_ mean? “Hn.”

If the lack of encouragement was any sign, Tsuzuki ignored it blithely. “See how much trouble you cause when you don’t rest?” he admonished, wagging a finger. “You have to get better, and come back to work, so you can scold me properly. You hear? “

“I must, Tsuzuki-san,” Tatsumi smiled tiredly, and the weariness of it was genuine and not the mask, and Tsuzuki felt slightly giddy, because it was real, Tatsumi was tired, always tired, and Tsuzuki could see that his guess wasn’t wrong all this time, that the Shadowmaster was the tired, real person he knew from back when they were partners. “Because hereafter I shall be terrified of your tender ministrations enough to rest when I can.”

Tsuzuki beamed. “Good! So when should I be here tomorrow-”

He never saw the flower vase coming.


End file.
